


Good Boy

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael was forced to kick his brother out of the house two years ago, and hasn't heard from him since. He comes back - but not for revenge
Relationships: Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Good Boy

A shriek.

Michael jumped in his seat, head lifting off the desk where he’d been resting it on his math homework. Several footsteps ran up the stairs. More shouting. A howl of pain from Gabriel. He tensed, waiting for the –

_Knock knock knock._

“Who is it?”

“ _Me_ ,” Raphael said, hastily barging in and slamming it shut. He could hear Gabriel make an exasperated noise from the other side of the door.

“What is-”

“Where’s dad?”

Michael blinked a few times. Raphael couldn’t be serious. Their father made a habit of leaving for long stretches of time, assured that the cook and the maids would keep the house in order if they all fell apart. “I’m – do you seriously think I know?”

“You need to call him, Mike. _Now_.”

He was pushing his body against the door as Gabriel pushed back, trying to open it.

Michael stood up. “Raph. What’s even going on?”

A glimmer of fear passed through Raphael’s eyes. There one moment, gone the next. “Mike,” he said, voice low, urgent. “You managed to kick it out. _Don’t_ let it manipulate you into letting it back in.”

He understood what he was talking about. But it wasn’t possible.

“Move, Rapha-”

Raphael shook his head, eyes wide. “Call dad,” he pleaded. “Please just- just call dad and he can get him to leave, I don’t-”

“He’s here?” Michael asked. “In the house?”

“Yes, he – don’t let him speak to you Mike, he’s always able to…” Raphael trailed off, biting down hard on his lip. They stared at each other, Raphael pleading, Michael uncertain.

Gabriel was banging on the door, palm flat.

“Move, Raph,” Michael said quietly. Raphael’s face twisted – disgust or disappointment? Michael couldn’t tell – and he stepped aside.

Michael opened the door. Gabriel started shouting, a stream of accusations towards Raphael and pleads to Michael. But Michael wasn’t looking for him. He was looking behind him, down the hallway, where Lucifer was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. Raphael was trying to talk over Gabriel, but neither of them gave their younger brothers a glance.

“Lucifer,” Michael said, and both Gabriel and Raphael shut up. Lucifer didn’t say anything. He just stood there, eyes burning.

He gestured for Raphael to leave, which he did reluctantly. Lucifer took his cue, walking slowly, silently, into Michael’s room, brushing past him. Raphael’s indignant eyes were the last thing Michael saw before he shut the door and turned the key.

They stood in silence for a few moments, Michael still facing the door, Lucifer near the desk. His room was large – large enough that his ears had to strain to hear the sound of Lucifer’s breathing – but still the room felt heavier somehow, Lucifer’s warmth and presence radiating across the room.

It took him a while to steel himself and turn around, looking his younger brother in the eye. Lucifer was watching him with the hint of a smile on his face, toying with a pen from Michael’s desk. They stared at each other in silence while Michael tried to figure out whether it was his imagination leading him to believe that Lucifer had grown in the past two years or not. His hair looked darker, his cheeks and chin and throat brushed with dirty blond stubble.

Lucifer held out an arm, hand taut, waiting for Michael to slip back into old routines. He felt himself leaning forward, wanting to move into his space and press against him.

But the words of their father the night he’d kicked Lucifer out still echoed in his mind. He stayed put.

Lucifer’s arm dropped back down to his side after a while. His eyes burned.

“Michael,” he murmured, and stepped forward. His hand curled inside Michael’s and tugged. Michael moved forward slowly, feet dragging, until his body was flush against Lucifer’s. Lucifer _had_ grown. He was taller than Michael now – barely, but still – and his body felt solider against him, though he was still slim. A fisted hand went to his waist, almost of its own volition. Michael didn’t protest when Lucifer pulled his head back to expose his neck.

“Sweet boy,” he whispered against the dip of his throat before covering it in a kiss. Michael breathed, shakily but steadily, as Lucifer kept one arm tight around his waist, the other moving things from his desk rapidly. Michael knew why – he clung to him when Lucifer bent him over the desk, mouth still at his throat. Michael wrapped his legs around his waist eagerly, and Lucifer hummed, lifting his face to smirk.

“Don’t leave a mark,” Michael whispered. They both knew how this had to go. Silently. The walls were thick, and their brothers weren’t the type to bother eavesdropping, but still. They had to be careful.

Lucifer never liked being reminded of that, though. His eyes darkened, and when he moved back to Michael’s throat he bit, small but hard enough to hurt. His hand was over Michael’s mouth before the yelp had time to escape him, his tongue pressed flat on the bite to soothe. Michael closed his eyes, overcome with the very presence of his brother. Two years, and now here he was, bending Michael over a table, moving to kiss his mouth instead, his icy eyes glazed with desire and want and _need_. Michael kissed him back, and he could still remember that first kiss, uncertain mouths and clanking teeth and nervous hands. Now kissing him back was second nature. He tightened his legs, pulling him in closer until he could hear the links of Lucifer’s chain scraping against the loop of the cross he wore.

Lucifer stopped suddenly, head lifting up from Michael’s. A whine came from Michael’s throat involuntarily, and Lucifer shushed him, staring at the door with intent concentration.

“Dad’s back,” he whispered. Michael tried to sit up, but he pushed him back down.

He could hear conversation downstairs. His father’s low tones, Gabriel’s peppy everything-is-fine one, and Raphael’s short, stilted replies.

“Luce,” Michael whispered, and Lucifer shushed him again, scraping Michael’s jaw and neck with his lips. Michael’s heart fluttered nervously, even more when Lucifer pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse on his throat, gripping Michael’s waist possessively with one hand and unzipping his jeans with the other.

He had to be shushed again when a hand started pressing into his boxers, Lucifer’s hand wrapping firmly around him. It felt so fucking wrong – he could hear his father’s footsteps coming up the stairs, and he was too overcome with needing, panting want to shove his estranged brother off him, who was watching with lustful intent as Michael came undone beneath him. Just through touch, too. He’d find himself pathetic if he Lucifer’s glazed eyes weren’t focused on him like he was a breathing miracle.

“Mike?” A few knocks on his door. Lucifer’s hands slowed but didn’t pause.

“I’m busy,” he managed, praying that would be enough to make him leave. Lucifer certainly seemed to think so – he dropped his head into the crook of Michael’s next, mouth open and wet on Michael’s skin.

“You alright?” his father asked cautiously. He managed not to groan.

“Fine, just-” Lucifer _squeezed_ him, the bastard – “-trying to do this homework.”

A pause, and then the footsteps headed back to the stairs. “Talk later, Mike. Once you’re finished.”

Lucifer snickered quietly at that before attacking Michael’s mouth in a deep, brief, possessive kiss. “ _Such_ a good boy, aren’t you, Michael? _Homework._ ”

Michael could do nothing but moan, breathless, as Lucifer defiantly sucked a hickey low down enough on his neck that Michael didn’t have to care.

He was on the edge when Lucifer removed his hand abruptly, slapping his other hand on Michael’s mouth, anticipating his whine. “Who’s touched you since I’ve been gone?” he asked in a whisper. Michael groaned against his hand, trying to thrust against him, but Lucifer’s hand stayed flat against his thigh.

“How many guys, hm? Touching you while I wasn’t there to stop them? Or maybe you’ve been with girls too? Hm?”

“ _Luce_ ,” Michael whispered, throat arching off the desk, begging for Lucifer’s mouth to touch it again. “Haven’t even - _kissed_ anyone since. There’s no one but you. Never will be.”

Lucifer’s eyes were unreadable. There was triumph that Michael could see, even in his debauched haze. But there was something else there, too.

“No one but me,” he repeated, voice devoid of emotion. Michael nodded.

Lucifer got back to work quickly after that, hand and mouth moving across him too gently for him to bear. He came with Lucifer’s hand across his mouth, rocking against him like they were horny teenagers too scared to undress again, whispering into his ear that he was a good boy, over and over, and it was the only thing Michael could hear in the haze.

He returned the favour, of course. Lucifer sat on the bed, Michael kneeling before him. Lucifer was gentle with him, stroking his hair and face and whispering sweet words of encouragement to him. That alone was enough to get Michael hard again. When Lucifer was unable to speak anymore, face slack and small moans falling from his lips, he had to resist the urge not to touch himself again.

Lucifer pulled him up onto the bed when he was done, and Michael would never not revel in the way Lucifer still kissed him deeply after Michael had had him in his mouth. Michael left his own marks on Lucifer’s neck – Lucifer was too hazed to stop him, running his hands over him aimlessly.

They stopped after a while, Michael laying on top of him, breathing against his neck when his jaw got tired. Lucifer rubbed small circles onto his hipbone, and they stayed there together silently.

It was inevitable that Lucifer would sit up, pulling on his shoes. He looked Michael, who just looked back, deflated. He washed his thumb across his cheek before kissing it chastely.

“Change your jeans before you talk to dad,” he said as he stood. Michael didn’t move.

“That’s it?” Michael asked. “You just fuck me and leave?”

“I didn’t fuck you, Michael. Not this time, anyway.”

He gave a small smile, holding out a hand. Michael didn’t take it. He was too stung. Lucifer stooped instead, kissing him softly. Michael didn’t respond – at first. Lucifer was leaving. Who knew when they’d next see each other? He kissed him back desperately, trying to pull him back on the bed. Luce pulled away chuckling.

“Oh, Michael. Sweet boy. I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

Michael didn’t say anything as Lucifer headed for the window. He was halfway out when he stopped, turning back to point at his cheek. Michael had pulled fresh jeans out his closet at that point. He shrugged, regaining his icy airs, pretending not to know what Lucifer meant.

“One for the road?” Lucifer asked.

It was worth one last shot. Michael crossed the room and crushed their mouths together instead, pressing a hand against his groin. Lucifer wobbled, catching the window frame for support. He pulled away after a while, staring up at Michael breathlessly.

“I’ll be back. _Soon_.”

“Tonight,” Michael said.

“Tonight,” he agreed, mouth hanging agape as he tried to recompose himself. “Go have your talk with dad.”

Michael nodded, changing into the fresh jeans as he listened to the clunk and groan of the pipe as Lucifer wiggled down it. Tonight, he thought, zipping himself up. He could wait that long.


End file.
